


Sun and Shadow, Ice and Moon

by Trapelo_Road475



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Carolina Hurricanes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trapelo_Road475/pseuds/Trapelo_Road475
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk and Jeff and Sasha, in the summer and in the season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun and Shadow, Ice and Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluelinerush27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluelinerush27/gifts).



They fight over him, Skinsy and Sasha do.

He tries to discourage it. But it's funny, in its way and he had to laugh when they were arguing, one night, and he couldn't get a word in edgewise, and they finally explained - 

"We have deal, okay? Most points, wins."

Jeff had nodded, continuing - "Whichever one of us gets most points in a game gets to - " And there he blushed, like the kid he was, and Kirk felt a twist inside himself, " - go first."

Kirk had considered this. Frowning. "Neither of you guys _got_ any points tonight."

"Yeah, we know."

"Is why we fight."

And Kirk hadn't been able to help laughing, shaking his head at the both of them, so young and earnest. They wanted him. They fought over him.

It scares him a little bit. He talks to Carby when he gets the time alone, talked to him in Montreal. Carby shrugs and smiles and says to go with it. 

(Carby sees the two of them, Kirk's boys, up close, raises his eyebrows and says something about Kirk being one lucky bastard.)

So young and earnest. Kirk knows when they're not with him, they're with each other, and he's alright with that. They're good for each other. A little goofy, maybe, but he doesn't need to worry about them, when they're together. He forgets how old Sasha is some days, and most days it's painfully obvious how much of a kid Jeff still is, and when they're together it's like they meet somewhere in the middle.

Jeff is always showing Sasha some new Raleigh haunt. Always leading him on some adventure.

Over the summer, when Sasha was back in Raleigh for a few weeks, Jeff had organized a little camping trip, and _begged_ him, with big brown eyes, to come along. Like he knew Kirk would give in all along. 

Kirk wouldn't have pegged Sasha for the nature-boy type, not with his fancy suits and flashy demeanor, but they get out to this campground that Jeff's found (and researched _obsessively_ , it turns out), somewhere in the mountains and the tall pines, and Sasha just slides right into it. Their campsite is near a wide, dammed creek and Sasha spends the weekend in shorts with his shirt off, and the crucifix he wears and its thick gold chain are the same color as the dapple-sun on the creekwater. Jeff sunburns slightly and then a tan spreads over his skin like a secret. Sasha lies on the rocks beside the creek and turns the color of a lion, napping gracelessly.

In the tent at night his boys come to him without fighting. Kirk wakes up with lips on his neck and a hand on his belly and the moon casting blue shadows for the crickets to fiddle under. Here and there the peep of wild creatures, the twang of a bullfrog. Skin. Fabric. Kirk doesn't know which body to turn to, but he's been at this game a lot longer than the two boys so he drags Jeff on top of him and pulls Sasha too his side.

Somehow they turn into a sandwich, a tangle, limbs and flesh and giggling voices. Metamorphose in the shining moon. Moths on the tentmesh. Kirk's forty-five and been at this game damned close to twenty years and he still freezes up at the sight and the feel of them. How can they teach him these new things, their bodies stripped and pressed to his while they kiss over him, while they are smudges and heat on his fingertips?

In the morning they sleep late and long. 

Sasha and Kirk endeavor during the whitegold ache of the afternoon to teach Jeff to fish. He tangles his line twice, blushes hotly, pulls up three finger-size crappies and finally, a fat, gleaming bass that gulps air and flashes deep crimson gills. Kirk catches nothing. Sasha comes up with three perch and a pickerel from the grassy depths just above the dam.

"Surf and turf tonight, eh boys?" Kirk says, grinning.

Jeff, watching the bass twist slow on the chain, cracks wise about Sasha being a master baiter. Sasha threatens to throw all the fish back but it's only idle. Boys in the late sun.

Jeff lies back against his chest on the creek bank. It makes him feel young again in so many wicked ways. Sasha washes his hands in the dark water and traces his fingers along Kirk's bare shoulder.

Later, after they eat and the sun has left its last lazy traces on the clouds, later, as the moon rises the fire smolders slow to white ash and coals like eyes or the back of a dragon. It's Sasha's turn to sprawl close to him.

Clouds close over the moon's broad face and Jeff ties the rainfly down. The first stroke of lightning hits somewhere in that smooth plane between sleep and wake. Thunder distant, crawling closer. Rain specks and flecks the sides of the tent and then patters like whispered secrets, and Kirk faces Sasha when he fucks him, and Sasha is quiet, soft, needy noises, while Jeff watches, while Jeff leans close and touches Sasha, strokes him, strokes himself, kisses Kirk's neck.

Kirk wakes sometime later when the rain has passed and the air in the tent is heavy with the smell of sweat and sex and skin and is strangely not unlike the dressing room after practice, steam rising from bodies, from parted mouths and pinked tongues.

Jeff is curled between them, Sasha on his belly with one arm cast over Jeff and scratching at Kirk's chest.

They are beautiful together. Kirk is happy they have each other and bewildered that they've chosen him. 

Bewildered. Not ungrateful. 

They spend a long and glorious weekend of such long golden days and sweaty blue-backed nights.

Sasha goes home to Russia.

The season doesn't start.

Jeff goes back to Toronto to see his family.

The season doesn't start.

Kirk's daughters scatter - the twins to Montreal and Bryelle to the state university, and his youngest still in high school. Kirk travels with his wife and makes love to her and waits for the lockout to end. He visits Guy and makes love to him too, old friends, old hands, old lovers. They won the Cup together, and the summer after Kirk spent a week with Guy at a cottage in Sept-Iles and it was not unlike the trip to the mountains with the boys.

Kirk tells Carbo they are very young, and Carby laughs and tells him they'll keep him in fighting shape, and then later he is quiet and says, 

"You are lucky. An' so are they, they have you as coach. They need you. Let them."

Carby was never good at speeches, but he says what he means and means what he says, and when he does, the team always listened.

The season doesn't start and then it does.

And Sasha and Jeff fight over him and when he calls them out on it, they explain (exasperated, as young men are, as Kirk remembers being) the system of points and balances and if it's after practice how they decide then and Kirk can't help laughing at them.

They love each other. They adore him, it's plain and humbling in their eyes. He loves them back. However they need it. However long.


End file.
